


Only The Horses

by acemattmrdck



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Flirty Tristan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tristhad Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acemattmrdck/pseuds/acemattmrdck
Summary: "He’s never been this open, but neither has Tristan. There's always been some shared knowing glances and shoulder brushing. Slowly they’ve built up to to hand holding and the occasional gentle kiss. Galahad’s title of Sir Galahad the Pure remains true."Tristan is injured in a battle and Galahad takes care of him.





	1. Battle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hachiseiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hachiseiko/gifts).



There’s a cloud of dust surrounding them as they are ambushed by a group of Woads. It's become routine; ride, fight, sleep. If they are unlucky; bury their dead. The sound of swords clanging against each other and screams echo all around. Galahad’s curls stick to his sweaty forehead. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the glint of the sun off a blade to his right. He pivots and swings his sword, cutting the man across his abdomen. Galahad watches as the Woad falls at his feet.

The dust has begun to settle around him. Above him Galahad hears the cry of Tristan’s hawk. He searches for the man amongst the ongoing fight. When he spots him, Galahad moves toward him. Tristan is surrounded on three sides. Panic sets in. He’s too far away from Tristan. As quickly as he can, Galahad sheathes his sword and pulls his crossbow from his back. 

His hands threaten to shake as he aims for the enemy at Tristan’s back. He sends the arrow flying, hitting the Woad in the neck. He readies another arrow as he runs. His second arrow hits the female Woad, on Tristan’s left, in the hip. She stumbles back a step. Tristan whips his head around to face Galahad. A look of shock crosses his face for a split second, but before he can turn his attention back on the woman, the Woad to his right charges at him, landing a blow to Tristan’s side.

Galahad all but throws his bow down as he pulls out his sword he runs. The sounds around him fade, the corners of his vision fuzz, and he feels like he’s moving through sludge. He knows Tristan can handle himself, but it doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in his gut, in his heart. His sword is up and ready to strike as he clears the last few meters between them.

The two remaining Woads are attacking Tristan with their full strength. Tristan swings his sword toward the male but gets blocked. Galahad shouts at the other Woad, trying to get her attention on him. She cries out as she starts running at him. He brings his sword down and across, slicing her bicep. She lunges at him with her two daggers. Their blades clash. He shoves her back with side of his sword, making her fall hard into the dirt. 

Galahad hears the other Woad shout something that he can’t quite make out. The sound of gurgling follows. He raises his sword up and brings it down swiftly but not before he gets a fist full of dirt in his face. He sputters, blinded momentarily. There’s a brief gust of wind and the sound of something whizzing in the air past his head. His sword makes contact with the woman still at his feet. She makes no sound except for a soft thud as she slumps back onto the earth. 

Still rubbing the dirt from his face Galahad turns to where Tristan was, only a few meters from him. Galahad’s eyes spot the thing that whizzed by his ear. It was one of the woman’s daggers. That same dagger is now sticking out of Tristan’s shoulder. 

“Tristan?!” Galahad rushes to his side. His eyes are wide as they roam his body checking for any other obvious signs of injury. Suddenly Tristan collapses against him. Galahad reaches out to him quickly. He slowly lowers them both to the ground. He places Tristan’s head in his lap. His heart clutches at the sight before him: Tristan; sweaty, pale, and bleeding. His drunken words a fortnight ago echo in his head. “If you’re so eager to die, you can die right now.” He regrets them. 

A gentle touch to his face breaks him from his thoughts.

“I’m alright.” Tristan grimaces as he tries to reassure him. 

“You clearly aren’t alright!” he berates the older man. 

“I’m going to need to take the dagger out and hopefully stitch up the wound,” Galahad tells him matter of factly.

Tristan breathes hard through his nose before giving him a curt nod. Galahad takes the end of his own tunic and rips a strip of the fabric off, folding it a few times into a square. The dagger itself is short, most of the blade is sticking out of Tristan’s shoulder. Knowing that there must be about four centimeters of the blade in Tristan, he relaxes. It’s not as deep as he thought. Tristan won’t bleed out. With the other hand he grabs the hilt of the dagger. He pulls the remainder that’s in Tristan’s shoulder out quickly, and placing the square of cloth over the wound. 

“Shit!” Tristan grits out through his teeth and clamping his eyes shut tight.

“There. Just, stay still.” Galahad applies some gentle pressure to the shoulder. 

“I had no plans to move, pup,” Tristan tells him. Galahad’s cheeks warm at the nickname. 

“There you two lovebirds are!” Bors shouts at them as he and the rest of the knights make their way towards them, their horses walking by their sides. 

“Tristan has been wounded. I need my kit!” Galahad yells back, selecting to ignore Bors’ comment. Gawaine grabs Galahad’s bag from his horse and rushes it to him. Tossing the bag down next to him. Careful not to jostle Tristan, he pulls open the pack. He reaches inside and grabs a smaller bag from inside. He unties it and plucks out a pair of scissors, a spool of thread, and a needle. 

“This is going to hurt.” Galahad removes the cloth and begins sewing up the gash.


	2. Home

Once Tristan’s shoulder is sewn up the knights get back upon their horses and continue their journey to the village. Galahad insists on Tristan riding with him. Tristan puts up no resistance to this demand, even accepting Galahad’s hand as he mounts the younger man’s mare. He settles up behind him wrapping his arms around Galahad’s waist.

Tristan lets out a sharp whistle and his hawk circles above, letting out a call. She glides down to land on Tristan’s uninjured arm. She sits perched upon his shoulder as Galahad clicks his tongue and gently nudges his horse forward. 

“When we get back, I’m going straight to my old lady and drink till I can’t piss straight,” Bors announces. 

“Huh, I was thinking about going to say hello to your old lady as well,” Lancelot deadpans, causing the rest of the men to laugh. 

“What about you, Galahad, what are your plans once we arrive?” Gawain asks him as he rides past them.

“Taking a much needed bath,” Galahad chuckles. He feels the man behind him lean forward, his warmth spreading across Galahad’s shoulder blades. There’s a slight puff of air behind his ear.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind some company?” Tristan says, his hot breath causing Galahad to shiver. Tristan’s hands brush down his sides and they move down to settle on his hips.

“Depends on who the company is, I suppose.” Galahad boldly leans back against Tristan, mindful of the man’s shoulder. 

He’s never been this open, but neither has Tristan. There's always been some shared knowing glances and shoulder brushing. Slowly they’ve built up to hand holding and the occasional gentle kiss. Galahad’s title of Sir Galahad the Pure remains true. 

“What if that company was me?” Tristan all but purrs into his ear.

“I’d very much enjoy that company.” Galahad grins as he feels Tristan’s thumbs rub circles on his hips.

Tristan’s hawk makes a series of small chirping noises near both men’s ears before taking off to follow from above.

“Well, someone’s restless,” Galahad says.

“I am,” Tristan whispers.

“I meant the bird,” Galahad states.

~⚔~

They reach the village by dusk. The men are all greeted warmly by a fairly large group of villagers. Arthur and his knights dismount from their horses and walk them to stables near the village inn. Each of them grab their packs and unsaddle their horses. Latching his mare’s stall door back, Galahad makes his way out of the stable. Tristan stands outside the building, next to the door, waiting for him. Galahad smiles wide when he sees him, brushing their hands together as the walk to the inn. 

They check-in with ease, Tristan takes the key to their room and asks the clerk for some hot water to be brought to their room for a bath. Galahad’s heart raced with giddy anticipation. The two of them made their way down the corridor to their room for the next few nights. Tristan unlocks the door and pushes the door open. He places a hand on the small of Galahad’s back, gently guiding him into the room ahead of himself. 

There’s little sunlight left outside, but what is left falls across the bed through the open curtains on the window on the wall next to the bed. The room itself is fairly big. There’s a single bed big enough for two people sitting against the opposite wall of the entrance. There are two small wooden tables with drawers on either side of the bed. Near the door is a stone fireplace with logs and a poker next to it. In the center of the room sits a copper tub big enough for two. A small stool sits beside it with two towels and a pitcher rests on top.

With Tristan’s hand still on his back the two make their way into the room, putting their bags onto the settee at the foot of the bed. Tristan removes his hand as he and Galahad untie their packs and put their belongings into the drawers. Galahad takes the matches that sit atop the table and lights the oil lamp. Tristan sits on the bed and removes his boots as Galahad goes around the room lighting the various lamps. There’s a soft knock at the door.

Galahad had almost forgotten the water. He opens the bedroom door wide.

“Your hot water, sirs.” A woman brings two large buckets in and following her is a young woman who brings two more large buckets. 

“Thank you.” Galahad stands there nervously, watching them pour the buckets into the tub. Steam curls up and around the edges of the tub. As the younger lady empties the last bucket they gather their buckets and leave. Galahad closes the door behind them. He takes a few deep breaths then locks the door.


	3. Bathing

Galahad walks over to the settee, sitting down he removes his shoes. Behind him he hears Tristan get up and move closer to him. He removes the bits of his chest armour and his tunic. He can hear the clinks of Tristan’s belt as he gets up. 

“Here, let me help,” Galahad offers while blushing, moving toward him in just his kilt. Galahad gently helps remove Tristan’s jacket, throwing it over the settee and slowly removes Tristan’s shirt next. He makes sure not to move Tristan’s injured shoulder much. He tosses the shirt on top of the man’s jacket. Galahad looks to Tristan’s face and sees him gazing at him with adoration in his eyes. Galahad smiles before ducking his head a little. Tristan lifts his head with his finger and leans in to place a soft kiss to his lips.

“You are aware that the water is getting cold?” Galahad kisses him again.

“Best get you out of your skirt then shouldn’t I?” Tristan smirks as he reaches for the buckles around Galahad’s waist. His thumb brushes Galahad’s skin, making him shudder. Their eyes never leaving one another as Tristan works the buckle on his skirt. A few gentle tugs of the straps and the skirt falls to the floor. He steps out of it, pushing the article of clothing away with his foot. Tristan pushes his own trousers off of his hips. His belt, still in the loops, clangs loudly to the ground.

The younger man does his best to not let his eyes wander. He fails. His eyes take in the fur that adorns Tristan’s chest, trailing down to the dark curls that nestle around his semi hard and girthy length. As much as Galahad would love to drop to his knees and take Tristan into his mouth, they really need to bathe and make sure Tristan’s shoulder gets clean.

Galahad takes Tristan’s hand and walks them to the tub. Galahad steps in first, letting go of Tristan’s hand as he lowers himself into the still mildly hot water. He scoots back until his back hits the end of the tub. Galahad gives Tristan some room to sit between his legs as the man steps into the tub next. He watches the muscles of Tristan’s back as he sinks into the water. Tristan leans back against his chest, closing his eyes. Galahad grabs the pitcher from the stool and scoops some water from the tub before he pours it over the other man’s hair slowly. He repeats the action again. Then he submerges the pitcher again, this time pouring it carefully over his own head.

He places the pitcher back on the stool and grabs the rag laying on the towels. Galahad places it in the water, then gently brings it to Tristan’s shoulder. Softly he begins to scrub the dirt and blood from around the wound. Galahad swirls the rag in the water and proceeds to wash the rest of Tristan’s chest. Boldly he runs his fingers through the older man’s chest hair. He watches as a small smile comes to Tristan’s face. He swears that if he could Tristan would be purring. 

 

Galahad nudges Tristan to sit up so he may get at his back. He trails the rag across Tristan’s broad shoulders, then down the man’s back. He wrings the cloth out and dips it back in the water between them to wash his own chest and back. Wrenching the cloth of water again he places it on the lip of the tub. He leans forward, wrapping his arms around Tristan’s middle, and places his forehead against Tristan’s back. 

Galahad may not be the praying type. None of them are but Arthur. Still Galahad can’t help but thank whatever God or Goddess is out there that today did not end differently for him. That he is here, in this room with Tristan, safely in his arms. He feels the water move as Tristan brings his hands from the water, placing them on top of his own. 

“Come on, pup. Let’s get out before we freeze,” says Tristan as he brushes his thumb over Galahad’s knuckles. Galahad makes a noise in agreement, giving Tristan’s a kiss, dropping his arms away. Galahad leans back as Tristan gets up from the water, watching the tiny droplets roll off of him. Tristan grabs a towel, quickly drying himself off before stepping out of the tub, dropping the towel to the floor. Galahad moves to get up and grab a towel but before he can grab it Tristan yanks it away. Before Galahad can protest Tristan is scrubbing his hair dry with the towel. He can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face. 

Tristan dries Galahad’s arms next, moving on to his chest and down his stomach. The water sloshes as Galahad turns around facing the fireplace for Tristan to dry his back. He turns back around and Tristan holds out his hand to help the younger man step out from the tub, the towel already discarded with Tristan’s own. When both of Galahad’s feet are on the hard wooden floor, Tristan pulls him close to kiss him.

“Go lay down, I’ll turn the lamps off and join you,” Tristan tells him before kissing him once more. 

“Mmm, okay.” Galahad brushes his hand across Tristan’s hip as to makes his way to the bed. Tristan’s eyes follow him as he crawls onto the bed. He lays atop the blanket on his side, one hand under his head and the other arm across his his waist. His eyes watch Tristan as he douse the lights around the room. Tristan leaves the oil lamps next to the bed lit as he crawls in bed behind Galahad. Tristan buries his nose into Galahad’s hair causing the younger to let out a small laugh. Tristan bends his head to plant a few kisses to the back of Galahad’s neck. His rough hands trail down Galahad’s spine.

“I never thanked you for sewing me up or for the bath. Thank you,” Tristan speaks softly into his ear. Galahad rolls over to face him. He places a hand to Tristan’s face and guides him into a kiss. 

“I do what I must to keep you with me for as long as I can,” Galahad whispers, looking into Tristan’s eyes. He catches a small tear escape from Tristan’s eye. He swipes his thumb over the cheek, wiping it away. He places a kiss there. Tristan’s arm comes around his waist and he pulls him against himself. He drags the younger man back into a kiss, this time a much deeper one. Halfway into the kiss both men yawn, making each other laugh. They turn the oil lamps off beside the bed and wrangle the blanket from under their bodies. Tristan pulls the blanket up to Galahad’s chin and places a kiss to his forehead. Galahad tucks his head under Tristan’s own chin and places a kiss to his neck before burying his nose there.

They two drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.


End file.
